der Vexierspiegel
by Cruentus
Summary: Light cannot exist without Darkness. White cannot be without Black. Their struggle for power is everlasting. But if one side should get the upper hand, what will become of all involved? SchuAya and YouAya both to come. R&R, if'n ya please.
1. Chapter One

Tra-la-la. Cruentus here to bring you more shitty-ass fanfiction, ladies and gents. Ain't it swell. I will admit here and now, I have little to no idea where this will be going: if I plan out a story, I can't write it, period. So I'm just free writing, and letting the story do what it wants. This'll probably be angst-ridden, and yaoi. I'm thinking Schu x Aya and Youji x Aya. Or something. We'll see how it goes. None of these characters are mine, I'm just borrowing them, they belong to their creators, blah-blah-de-blah. Plleeeeease R&R. I'll love you forever if you do. 

To anyone who is curious: the title translates to "distorting mirror."

Enjoy.

~† † †~ Aya-chan . . . 

_Are you well?_

_Please don't make that face. I didn't want to leave._

_I had to._

_You will never be safe, around me . . ._

_Always in danger, simply because you know a heartless murderer . . ._

_But you're safe now._

_And I am . . . happy._

_Aren't I . . . ?_

_. . ._

_You don't know me, anymore . . ._

_Aya-chan . . ._

With a vicious jerk of stiffened muscles, Aya's eyes snapped open wide, fists gathering large handfuls of the bedspread beneath him. His lips parted to let out a cry, but the pained sound died before it reached the air, becoming a simple exhale of quivering breath. For a moment, he simply stared at the ceiling, breathing hard and willing his body to relax. When he had more control over himself, he sat up, sheets pooling in his lap, hand moving to cradle his damp forehead in his palm.

". . .Aya-chan."

            Those nightmares, again. He found it becoming more and more difficult to elude them. Before, they had merely been once, maybe twice a week; but now, nearly every evening plagued him with horrific images from deep within the inner reaches of his most paranoid area of soul. Aya-chan hurt, bleeding, dying on the floor. Hunted by those that once hunted him, driven by revenge. Aya-chan paying his penance in blood. Always his beloved sister, summer dress and plaited hair stained the faded crimson of a falling sunset. Sometimes with he himself holding the killing blade.

            It was almost too much to bear, anymore.

            Shaking his head slowly, the young redhead slipped from beneath the sheets, absently stretching his uncomfortably stiff muscles. His eyes darted to the side to fix a glare on the clock beside his bed, digital box-numbers glowing menacingly in the dim light of the bedroom. 5:42. Better than usual, at least. Three hours was better than nothing. He whisked slim fingers through his bangs and grimaced; God, but he needed a shower. Badly. With a muter of annoyance to himself, Aya pulled open the drawers of his dresser, haphazardly yanking out old black jeans and a sky-blue cardigan with a strip of white across the chest, the designer label of  "Firetrap" embroidered into the upper left side of the chest. Draping the clothes over one arm, he slipped from his room with a cat's grace and silence, barely a sound from his loose pajamas as they ruffled a bit with the movement. 

            The bathroom was dark and unoccupied; a relief, as he was honestly not in the mood to put up with any of his fellow assassins this morning. Aya shut the door silently behind him as he entered, then stripped off his sweat-soaked sleepwear and tossed it thoughtlessly to the floor, moving to the shower. He turned the decorated knobs, testing the water until it was nearly scalding to the flesh, before moving under the water spray with a hiss of pain and relief. Leisurely scrubs soon cleaned his flesh of all the remains of his nightmare, working the pliable skin raw with a washcloth. His eyes remained closed throughout, lost in thought.

            Had it really been a year since everything had come to such an abrupt end? It was still almost impossible for him to accept it and move on. They'd escaped the building as it collapsed, of course; how could they not? Pulling through by the skin of your teeth was all in a day's work, for the renegade assassin group known as WeiB. They'd packed up and left almost immediately without goodbyes to anyone, letting them believe they had met a quick end beneath falling rubble. Aya had had barely enough time to gather information about his sister… who was now awake, alive, and happily living in the states, in medical school.

            He kept telling himself it was better this way. Somehow, he was never quite able to believe it. 

            They had moved themselves to a new providence, having more than enough money to take residence anywhere they wished. After a few months, they set up shop again; a month after that, they took up their old work for Kritiker, spending their restless night hunting the wicked and protecting the weak. Originally, each had planned to simply leave that path behind; a few months of restless irritation and flaring tempers had eventually pushed them all back to their calling. After all, what right had they to take on normal lives, after all that they had done?

            The new place was a bit smaller, but still comfortable; instead of wasting time on several apartments, they simply agreed on a house right beside the corner shop, big enough to house all of them with plenty of room to spare. Their rooms had enough distance between them for privacy, and they split the floors between them for bathroom privileges: Omi and Ken upstairs, Aya and Youji downstairs.

            Hence Aya sooner wishing death upon himself than having to deal with a hung-over Youji in the wee hours of the morning.

            After washing his hair four times with his own shampoo – he'd had to physically abuse Youji on almost a nightly basis to get him to keep his damn hands off it – he turned off the water, taking a moment to relish the fading ache from his skin. He stepped from the shower, pulling a towel off the rack on the wall and drying his body first, then his hair. After reaching an acceptable degree of dryness, he dressed, pulling on jeans and zipping up his cardigan. Combing his fingers through his bangs, he stepped out from the bathroom, lidding his eyes as the cool air in the hallway hit him full-force. If it was like this indoors, it was going to be a cold, miserable walk next door. 

            Grabbing his leather jacket and keys on the way out the door, he locked it behind him, then made the trek down the street to the locked doors and gated windows of the Koneko, head bowed against the biting wind. Upon reaching the door, he fumbled for the right key with numbing fingers, cursing after dropping them twice in a row with his attempts. Eventually, the right key slid in with a click, and he turned it, pushing the door open with a frustrated growl of irritation.

            _Ran._

            Aya stopped soon after entering the shop and frowned, tilting his head. He's heard… someone. It was hard to tell where it came from; in the shop? But the doors had all been locked…

            _Raaa-aaan…_

A scowl crossed his features, and he grabbed a broom from beside the door, full prepared to use the makeshift weapon against whoever was sing-songing within the store. Though, it didn't seem to really come from _any_where.

            _You look so tired. Having nightmares? Poor little thing._

            He listened a moment longer, then narrowed his eyes to slits, gripping hold of the broom handle. His voice came out not so much in spoken word, but in a vicious, hateful growl.

            "Schuldig."

            Deep, silvery laughter answered him in his mind, making him feel oddly lightheaded.

            _We've missed you, you know. All of you. I in particular have missed playing with you darling little boys._

            "I'm not surprised you survived the blast," Aya muttered, eyes narrowed to slits as he found himself regretting not carrying his katana with him all the time. "You are Schwarz, after all. WeiB's equal."

            _Flatterty will get you everywhere, Ran. But, really, I'm not here to fight; simply on a social call, to be honest. _Aya felt a strange sort of mental caress, and let out a hiss, muscles tensing.

            "Then come out and show yourself, bastard, and I'll give you a fond welcome."

            _Sorry, I'm not partial to being swatted at with a broom like a housewife bats at a neighborhood dog._

            Aya twitched at the analogy, obviously not partial to the "housewife" comment. "Coward!" he barked, gripping the broom tightly. "Show yourself!"

            _Oh, very well._ "If you insist."

            With a blink, Aya began to turn, but was suddenly launched backward by a powerful blow to his spine before he could turn even half-way. His body collided with one of the shelves of potted plants, knocking several to the ground to shatter and spray fertilized dirt across the floor, one pot from higher on the shelf breaking against Aya's left shoulder and causing a sharp piece of broken pottery to slice across his cheek. Gripping the shelf for support, the white assassin turned his head to glare hatefully over his shoulder at the telepath.

            "You . . ."

            Schuldig smirked broadly, standing in the doorway with one hand on his hip, hair pulled back into a ponytail high on the back of his head and dressed in black suit and leather jacket. "Hello, pet. Miss me?"

            With a roar of anger, he spun and launched himself at the German; he was gone before Aya could even touch him, and the redhead was met instead by a heavy blow to the side of the head, sending him reeling into another shelf of plants. 

"You've gotten rusty," Schuldig observed in a thoughtful tone, walking up behind the dazed assassin and yanking his head up by the hair, eliciting a pained yelp from him. "We'll have to work on that." He slammed his head down against the table, smirking at the spatter of blood left after the blow, then threw him across the room like a rag doll. Aya collided with the wall and slammed down into a display case, hissing as he felt his shoulder dislocate. The pain was enough to clear his head momentarily, and he struggled to his feet, only to be slammed up against the wall by the throat again.

"Listen close to me, pretty," the European purred into Aya's ear, tightening his hold on his throat enough to make him choke and struggle for air. "You won't remember that I did this; I'll make sure of that. But deep in that fucked-up little brain of yours, you'll know that things are going to happen. Big things, to you and your little crew. We've got our own jobs to do, and you're in the way . . . So think of this as a "long time no see" greeting. We'll be meeting again, Ran . . ." He leaned close enough that his lips brushed over the redhead's ear, speaking both verbally and telepathically to him.

_And I'll enjoy seeing your face as I rip your little friends apart._

Aya's eyes widened just before a fist was thrust up into his ribcage, twisting, forcing all air from his lungs and making him retch; had his stomach not been empty, it would have been a messy sight. Schuldig released him and allowed him to slide to the floor as his eyes tried to focus, his vision beginning to give out on him.

"See you later, Ran. We'll be in touch."

Vaguely, Aya could hear the receding footsteps of the Schwarz member, as well as the swelling wail of police sirens. Hands gripped at his shoulders, shaking him desperately.

"Aya-kun! Aya-kun, what happened?! Aya-kun!"

Aya's head fell to the side, and the darkness finally dragged him into the depths of unconsciousness, granting him a dreamless black.

~† † †~

O ho ho . . . Everybody knows you can't have White without Black. We'll see where this goes . . . I need editors and betas, by the way. Anyone interested, get a hold of me through the info provided in the ff.net profile. And review, don't forget to review~!


	2. Chapter Two

Sigh… another chapter come along. It sucks, people. And it's short, like the last; I just couldn't get it to flow right. Sumanai, everybody. *dies* Well, at least I sorta know where the plot's going. Oh yeah, kudos to my beta, Shan. She's helping me along with this, and making me feel less stupid. Don't forget to R &R!

~† † †~

_'Vater unser im Himmel-'_

_Light flashed over the blade as it slid across soft flesh._

_'Geheiligt werde dein Name.'_

_A whimper, a cry, twitching limbs, blood pooling on the floor._

_'Dein Reich komme-'_

_He stared, limbs prone. The crimson flowed freely._

_'Dein Wille geschehe, wie im Himmel so auf Erden.'_

_'Oniichan . . .'_

_'Unser tägliches Brot gib uns heute_-_'_

_Her back arched. The blade ripped through her, draining her of her life's blood._

_'Und vergib uns unsere Schuld, wie auch wir vergeben unsern Schuldigern.'_

_'Stop it . . .'_

_'Und führe uns nicht in Versuchung-_'

_Her eyes locked with his, wide as the light within began to fade._

_'Sondern erlöse uns von dem Bösen-'_

_'STOP IT!!'_

_'Denn Dein ist das Reich-'_

_Amber eyes peered at him, dancing with the light of surrounding candles._

_'Und die Kraft-'_

_The blade flashed, slicing cleanly through Aya-chan's smooth white throat._

_'Und die Herrlichkeit in Ewigkeit.'_

_Farfarello narrowed his eyes, a wild smirk crossing his lips._

_'Amen.'_

  
~† † †~

"STOP IT!!"

Aya blinked a little, finding himself sitting up in bed, one arm outstretched. He stared at the blank wall before him for a moment in confusion, breath coming sharply. He remained in place for less than a few seconds before the agony in his ribs and head informed him that, no, it was honestly not all that fond of this position. With a bit of a hiss he fell back against the bed again, shuddering and putting a hand to his forehead. It was bandaged. Slowly, he realized he was in only his jeans, with both head and ribs bound in medical tape.

"Aya-kun?"

Grimacing, ice-blue eyes slid to the side to peer at the door. Omi stood there in sleeveless white shirt and red shorts, a "piyo piyo" apron tied about his waist. In his hands he carried a tray, with what looked to be soup, water, and painkillers.

"How are you feeling?" He walked in, setting the tray on the table beside the bed. "Be careful not to move too much, you're still injured."

"I noticed that," he muttered, shifting. "What the hell happened?"

The door opened further. "We were hoping you could tell us that, Fujimiya-san."

Aya narrowed his eyes to slits, glancing towards the door. Two police officers stood there, one holding a notepad and pencil, the other with his hands in his pockets. Omi looked towards his teammate, and the two shared a private conversation simply through that momentary connection, a skill borne from years of silent attacks and careful communication. Aya was immediately aware that, though he had tried, Omi had been helpless in keeping the police officers outside of their home. Youji and Ken must not have gotten home yet. Damn.

"Sir, if we can, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

Their query was met with a derisive snort.

"I was attacked from behind, concussed, and got my ribs bruised, only this morning! And you're already here, asking questions?" His gaze shot to Omi, communicating for him to play along, and he hissed, "Omi. You know that I don't like strangers in the house."

"H-Hai!" Omi whimpered, falling into play immediately. "I'm sorry, Aya-kun, but they insisted-'

One of the policemen interrupted them. "Sir, we only want to ask you a few questions. We're here to help."

"I want to rest. You can come back tomorrow."

"But sir-"

"Come. Back. Tomorrow."

The officers exchanged glances, frowning. Eventually they sighed, one tipping his hat, and turned, leaving the room. Omi skittered after them, chattering apologies and leading them to the door. Aya waited for the final click of the front door before relaxing finally, letting his eyes fall closed. God, but he felt like shit . . .

"Oi, Aya."

His eye twitched. Lovely, more visitors . . . and one in particular he was not in the mood to see. He draped his arm across his eyes, ignoring the footfalls entering the room, house slippers tapping against hardwood floor. Eventually, two fingers poked at his shoulder, eliciting a hiss of irritation from the bed-ridden assassin.

"Youji," he snarled, "I am less than willing to put up with you right now. Find someone else to bother."

Youji growled, his tone indignant. "The Hell's wrong with you, huh? You're acting like I'm the one who went after you!"

The arm over Aya's eyes slid back just enough so he could glare at him. "You were probably still drunk this morning. I wouldn't be surprised if it were." His tone was flat and humorless, making it difficult to tell just how much of that statement was in jest. Youji's eyes narrowed to slits and he bared his teeth, looking ready to spray a series of curses foul enough to make a sailor blush. Instead, he took a slow breath to calm himself, then turned on a heel and stormed out. Aya's arm went over his eyes again as he let out a sigh. Youji had a rather innate skill of pushing all the wrong buttons with him; and apparently, he was able to do the same thing with Youji, as well.

After waiting for Youji to storm down the hall to his bedroom, obscenities flying in his wake, Aya sat up a bit, picking up the bottle of painkillers. He eyed the label a bit, reading the recommended dosage: three pills every five hours. With a snort he opened the bottle, pouring out six and popping them all in his mouth before washing them down with the glass of water, which he finished off soon after. His gaze drifted to the soup, and he make a bit of a face. His stomach was a little too unsettled to even attempt food . . .

Aya laid back carefully, pursing his lips absently as he wracked at his memory in a desperate attempt to recall what happened. All his attempts came up blank. He could remember showering, and going to the shop . . . unlocking the door, then . . . after that, it all came as a blank. The more he thought about it, the less he could remember; it was extremely frustrating. After nearly ten minutes of this he gave up, pulling the blankets tighter around him and resting. It wasn't long before he was asleep, once again.

~† † †~

"Mother-fucking self centered cold-as-ice son of a fucking bitch-ass rat whore!!"

Ken blinked and pressed himself up against the wall as Hurricane Youji stormed past him down the hall and into his bedroom, slamming the door violently behind him hard enough to shake it on its hinges. He stared for a moment, then slowly quirked a brow.

"Well," he murmured, thoughtfully. "That was a creative curse, if I ever did hear one." Shrugging, he headed down the hallway again, only to have Omi round the corner and whump into him, face landing in his chest.

"Ouf! Eh? Ah… Ken-kun!" He stepped back and adjusted his apron a little, looking up at him. Ken waved a bit.

"Yo, Omi. How's Aya holding up?"

The younger male shook his head, sighing and crossing his arms over his chest. "He can't remember what happened. All he knows is he went in the Koneko and wham! Now he's in bed again. But, the doctor who checked him out said there was no sign of serious damage, which is why he's home . . ." 

Ken frowned thoughtfully, resting one hand on his hip and tilting his head downward. He'd come home from a late soccer game with the kids, only to find police in his house and shop, questioning a flustered Omi and attempting to arrest a cursing, hung-over Youji, who had apparently managed to accost an officer. Ken had been able to talk them out of throwing him in a cell for a few nights – barely – and had mostly taken charge of things, while Aya was down for the count, so to speak. Eventually, things had been put into some semblance of order. But they still had policemen crawling around the house like an infestation of roaches, checking for evidence, questioning them all to the brink of physical violence against them; most of the police there were rookies, it seemed, as they had little to no idea what the Hell they were doing.

Gingerly, the brunette attempted to massage away the beginnings of a headache growing in his temple. Omi looked up at him with wide, worried eyes, though he looked to be under just as much stress, if not more. When he spoke, his voice was a hushed whisper, that held a slight note of worry to it. "Ken-kun . . . who could have done this? Was it someone who knows who we are . . .? Who we were . . .?"

"Omi," Ken murmured, forcing a reassuring smile, "It probably wasn't anything really bad like that. You know we bring in a lot of money; there are some really messed up kids around here, you've seen them around the shop. They were probably after the cash, and went after Aya because he was the only one there."

They both looked at each other for a moment, knowing perfectly well that that was highly improbable. After a moment, Omi rested his hands on Ken's arm, biting his lower lip. 

"If anything else happens, we'd better move on."

Ken's face fell for a moment, before he collected himself, nodding once.

"Aa."

He lifted his hand and ruffled Omi's hair, then gave him a reassuring hug. Poor kid . . . He had just started to settle into the area, too. All of them had, really. Omi had gotten back into school, Youji had already become a regular at most of the local hangouts, Ken himself had even started coaching soccer again. And Aya . . . Well, Aya didn't do much of anything. But that wasn't very new. He was either in working on his own or with the others, out hunting their latest prey with the team, or nowhere to be found. Any queries made as to his whereabouts led to a response of the typical Aya 'Shi-ne' Glare, followed by a growl of, "It's none of your business." They'd all pretty much given up wondering, after awhile.

Smiling a little at the show of comfort, Omi hugged him in return, then pulled back a little. "I'd better go make sure they don't mess up the shop too badly." He started down the hall, then turned again. "I know you two aren't really on the greatest of terms, but could you please go check on Youji-kun? Aya-kun upset him again, and I don't want him misbehaving." Without waiting for a reply, he ran off down the hallway once again, adjusting his apron as he went. Ken blinked, unable to protest in time before he was around the corner.

"But . . . I . . ." He stared after the younger boy, then let out a groan, holding his head in his hand. Great. He and Youji were less that cordial these days, what with the pedophile jokes the damn blond had started making. He, in retaliation, had started commenting on how he thought his playboy routine was just to cover up "certain feelings" – which was half true, as he did have a feeling that the things he did were just an act, but he never brought it forth seriously. They'd been at each other's throats ever since.

With a bit of a sigh, Ken shook his head, then walked down the hall and to the left up to the door to Youji's room. He lifted a hand and hesitated a moment before rapping gingerly against the wood.

"Youji? Are you in there?"

No response. He knocked again, frowning, then opened the door slightly, stepping closer to peer inside. Opening it wider, he let out a bit of a growl as he found not only the room empty, but the window open, and was met with the sound of screeching tires – he'd run off. Great. This was exactly what he didn't need right now . . .Well, there was nothing to do for it, now. He'd have to scream at him whenever he got back; the later he was, the louder Ken would yell. Simple enough. Grimacing as the headache began to claw at his temples, Ken turned on a heel and left the room, deciding to take some painkillers before going and helping Omi with the police in the shop.

~† † †~

That's it. See? Short and shitty. …Though I'm admittedly proud of Youji's swearing. I'm going to try and fit some comedy in here, so the angst isn't so annoying. Emphasis on the word 'try,' here. Bleh. Revieeewww….


End file.
